


Close Call

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 02:23:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A close call makes the guys verbalize their feelings for each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Call

**Author's Note:**

> Some of my stories never made it to the archive, thus I'm reposting a few. This one is for Bast. Enjoy the romance. Oh, not beta'ed, just spell-checked.

## Close Call

by Rayden Star

Author's disclaimer: The guys belong to Pet Fly, but believe me, if I owned them, they'd be treated better!

* * *

This was it; it had been too many close calls to count and his nerves were frayed. This time, the person that meant more to him than his own life had actually died on the operating table and only the miracle of modern medicine had brought him back. He just couldn't take it any more, wondering if this would be the day, if that morning would be the last morning they ever argued about wet towels on the floor, if that was going to be the day that some strung-out, drugged-up punk would kill him. 

The day had started out ordinarily enough; their usual argument over dirty towels on the bathroom floor completing their morning ritual. But THE phone call, the call he never wanted to get but got too often came. His partner had been shot while in a drug-lab infested neighborhood, trying to help out a homeless kid he'd met during a recent case. It was in his partner's nature to help as much as possible, but his partner pretended not to care that much. He knew it was his roommate's safety mechanism; help when he could but don't dwell on those he couldn't help. Now, he put the phone down as abject horror ran through his veins, chilling him, as he again wondered if he had waited too long and now there would never be that chance, that chance to tell him how he felt, to let him know he was loved no matter if it was reciprocated or not, to bring about that one moment in time where things would either click into place or fall apart into a million pieces. 

And now he waited, patiently, with all nerves frayed, outside the ICU, watching the clock and knowing that each minute that passed with the person who owned him heart and soul still alive, was another minute toward recovery. He found himself praying to whatever Deity was listening to please let his partner live, that he needed his partner in his life, to not take his partner away from him. A touch on the shoulder told him he could go in for his five minute visit. 

The scene was too surreal; too many machines hooked up to that vibrant body, keeping him alive, forcing air into lungs that would not breathe on their own, keeping tabs on the heartbeat that was way too slow, too slow even for someone of his athletic stature and build. He sat down next to the bed and gently picked up one of his partner's hands, warming it, caressing it, interlacing the fingers with his like he had imagined in his dreams of their lovemaking. But no pressure was applied to his hand, no controlled strength flowed back to meet his; the hand lay limp in his hand, ... but there was _life_ underneath that skin, he could feel it. He could feel the blood flowing, the slow pulse and he knew it was _life_ and that _life_ would come back to him. And he swore right then and there to tell that beautiful man before him how he felt, how much he was loved and always would be loved. Damn the consequences, full speed ahead, he wasn't going to live a lie anymore. And if he didn't love him back and dismissed him from his life, well, his life would be in effect over ... oh he wouldn't do anything drastic, bad for the karma or soul or whatever exists after this go-around. But he'd become a shell, an unbreakable shell, existing through life instead of living it. He leaned down and whispered. 

"I love you. Come back to me, please. Don't leave me alone. I could survive if we weren't together, just knowing you were alive would be enough. Just come back and open those brilliant blue eyes and I'll take my chances then. Please ..." 

He ended with a quick kiss on his temple. 

* * *

Each minute that passed became a celebration; each hour became an all-out end of time jubilation. Eventually his partner woke up, those bright blue eyes opened and they determined he would live ... this time. Now that he knew the worse was over, he breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't eaten much and slept even less while his life was decided for him. He found they would release him in a few days to go home to complete bed rest and recuperation. He swore he'd see that his recovering partner stayed put, per doctor's orders. 

They were both exhausted when they finally reached home a few days later. Once his roommate was on the couch, surrounded by pillows, blankets, books and the TV remote, he went to the kitchen to find something relatively light to eat. He brought the food to the coffee table, blatantly ignoring House Rule #68: No food in the living room, and they ate in a comfortable silence. Only after the dishes were done and they both were back on the couch, supposedly reading their respective books, did his partner clear his still-scratchy throat and begin to speak. 

"I love you, too." 

With that, Blair Sandburg crawled carefully into Jim Ellison's arms, both knowing they had found their future at last. 

The End. 


End file.
